A Stinky Cover-Up: The Death of Qin Shi Huang

One of history’s most macabre tales comes from the annals of China’s first emperor, Qin Shi Huang. During an inspection tour, the emperor suddenly died, but his ministers—fearing chaos—kept his death a secret. They continued their journey back to the capital, Xianyang, maintaining the illusion of his vitality by delivering routine reports to his carriage as if he were still alive.

But decomposition set in quickly. In the sweltering heat, the emperor’s corpse began to rot, emitting a foul odor. To mask the stench, the ministers placed a cart of baoyu (鮑魚) behind the imperial carriage, hoping bystanders would blame the smell on the fish rather than the sovereign’s remains. The ruse worked—a testament to both desperation and ingenuity.

This episode, recorded in Records of the Grand Historian (Shiji), raises an intriguing question: Why would expensive seafood like abalone (baoyu in modern Chinese) smell so terrible? The answer lies in a linguistic and culinary evolution.

The Misunderstood “Baoyu”: From Rotten Fish to Gourmet Treasure

Contrary to modern assumptions, baoyu in ancient texts did not refer to the prized abalone but rather to salted, fermented fish—a pungent staple of pre-modern diets. Historical records, from the Four Books to dynastic histories like the Book of Han and Records of the Three Kingdoms, consistently use baoyu to describe this malodorous food. The idiom baoyu zhi si (鮑魚之肆), meaning “a place reeking of rotten fish,” underscores its reputation.

By the Song Dynasty (960–1279), terminology had shifted slightly. While baoyu still denoted salted fish, the single character bao (鮑) referred to oysters. A popular Song dessert, disu baoluo (滴酥鮑螺), featured cream piped into spiral shapes resembling oysters and conches. Meanwhile, the modern abalone was called fuyu (鳆魚)—a distinction traceable to the Han and Wei dynasties.

The Rise of Abalone as a Luxury Food

Abalone’s prestige predates the Song. Historical figures like Wang Mang (Han Dynasty) and Cao Cao (Three Kingdoms) relished it, though its exorbitant cost made it a delicacy for elites. The Book of Southern Qi notes that 30 abalones could fetch 100,000 coins—far beyond a commoner’s means.

The Song Dynasty saw wider availability due to expanded fishing grounds (Shandong, Guangdong, Zhejiang) and imports of Japanese abalone (woluo, 倭螺). Yet it remained a luxury. Scholar-official Ge Shengzhong penned Begging for Abalone, extolling its rarity, while Yang Yanling noted its perishability made fresh specimens especially prized—a contrast to today’s dried abalone industry.

Shark Fin and Bird’s Nest: The Later Additions to Elite Cuisine

The “holy trinity” of Chinese haute cuisine—abalone, shark fin, and bird’s nest—emerged incrementally. Shark fin entered menus during the Song, appearing in dishes like shayu chi biao (沙魚翅鳔), a dried fin requiring rehydration, much like modern preparations.

Bird’s nest, however, arrived late. While Ming (1368–1644) and Qing (1644–1912) emperors savored it, earlier records are scant. The myth linking its introduction to Zheng He’s voyages is debunked by Dietary Guidelines (Yinshi Xuzhi), a Yuan-era text describing edible nests. By the Qing, it symbolized opulence—even corrupt official Heshen’s confiscated stash was mistaken for “foreign vermicelli” by clueless soldiers.

Legacy: How Ancient Tastes Shaped Modern Palates

The journey of these ingredients mirrors China’s culinary globalization. Abalone’s transition from rotten fish to delicacy reflects evolving preservation techniques, while shark fin’s Song-era debut highlights maritime trade. Bird’s nest’s late arrival underscores Southeast Asian connections.

Today, these foods remain status symbols, yet their histories reveal a darker side: the lengths elites went to for exclusivity, and the ingenuity (or deception) that preserved power—whether masking an emperor’s decay or flattering a Ming official with gifts. As we savor these dishes now, we taste not just flavors, but centuries of ambition, adaptation, and occasional absurdity.

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